Moving Forward

By Arianna Shanks-Hill

Before I give up my title, and step fully into retirement, I want to share something that is equally as important as all of my education and statistics that I share through this page.

I have been on this journey as a survivor for a very long time (or so it seems to a 21 year old). I have worked through just about every emotion, feeling, and stage of grief that life has to offer.

I spent a very long time being angry about what happened to me. And an even longer time believing that I wasn’t angry anymore, and that I had moved on and started to heal. I was stuck in my anger and stuck in the mindset that I had been a victim. I was defined by it and it controlled the way I moved through the world. Everything I did was an opportunity to prove myself. I led with anger when I spoke about my story instead of leading with hope and love and empowerment. Everything that I felt was and is valid, and so are the emotions of survivors everywhere. However, anger is not sustainable. Love is. Loving yourself and the people around you enough to lead with and be the light is the way the world begins to change. Believing in and being the example for hope is the worthwhile fight and the start of a better tomorrow.

What I want to talk about today is exactly that.

I speak a lot on this platform about hope. About trusting hope that life will be better, and that your future will be beautiful, and that if you can find it in you to have hope you’ve already made it halfway there. Hope is a hard fought battle that requires an immeasurable strength and grit. It is not a one stop shop, but rather a commitment to continually believing that the future will be better. Hope requires a leap of faith to move forward. You cannot make that leap if you are holding on to anger and resentment, and limiting yourself to being that victim. You are worth so much more than one singular label, and your future is absolutely limitless if you are willing to fight for it. Nothing worth having is ever easy, and I will never pretend to be the absolute authority on life after abuse. The best thing I can do is speak on my experience for those who see themselves in me and for those who aren’t sure where to go next. I know what I needed to hear and the example of perseverance that I needed to see. I know that my future was worth the work, even if I didn’t see it back then. If you are holding onto your past with both hands you cannot reach forward and grab whatever beautiful thing the future has to offer you. You are absolutely allowed to be angry. No one should have to experience abuse, and it is unfair in the simplest sense of the word. I encourage you to feel that anger, but I also want to encourage you to put the same amount of energy into healing and being a beacon of light that you did into feeling angry. Every emotion on your healing journey is one that deserves its own moment. However, my hope is that you never get so caught up in one emotion that you take up permanent residence there. It is my philosophy that all emotions are welcome in my house, but they are not allowed to redecorate my room. embrace the healing and feel it just as deeply, if not more so, as you do the anger. You are worthy of that level of peace and so much more. In this life I have learned that we don’t get to choose what happens to us, but it is in our control to choose how we react to it and how we frame it in our minds. Eventually, you have to let the anger go. Not because they deserve forgiveness, but because you deserve to live a life completely unattached to that experience. When you are ready, and not a moment before, take a deep breath and make a choice. You are the only person who gets to define you. I urge you to define yourself by the light that you have inside, by the strength it takes to separate yourself from that kind of evil, by the love that you can give to others, by the difference you can make in people’s lives by standing in your truth and being an example of someone who overcomes. Life might not ever be fair, but I want to do as much good as I possibly can to offset the unfairness and the bad that gets thrown at us. I wish that for everyone else too.

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You can find Arianna Shanks-Hill on her Instagram. She is a frequent and valued contributor to Section 36 Forevers. Be sure to read all of her guest blogs.

To learn more about Arianna, feel free to check out her Interview with Section 36.

Overcoming the Interview

By Avery Manthe

For many competitors, the interview is the most dreaded portion of the competition. It’s the one portion you can’t script or plan second by second. You can’t predict every question or gauge how the judges reacted to each one of your answers. But, there is one thing you can control: your mindset. 

As simple — even cheesy — as it sounds, confidence is key. Going into the interview with self-assurance is what allows you to proudly and authentically represent who you are. Winning my local interview portion, especially in my very first year of competing, was an incredibly rewarding moment. I’d hope to carry that strength and momentum with me on to the state level. 

Still, I wasn’t immune to nerves. It was my first time competing within the Miss America Organization, and I was sharing the stage with women who had been pursuing the title of Miss Wisconsin for over a decade. Comparison crept in, and doubt tried to settle. 

The night before interviews, something shifted. A few fellow titleholders and I were talking about our nerves, and I suddenly became the group’s unofficial hype woman. I found it so easy to encourage them — tossing out lines of solace like, “You’ve got this!” and “You’re going to do amazing!” And then, almost without thinking, I said something that stuck with me: 

“You can’t get a question about yourself or your opinion wrong. You know yourself better than anyone else in this competition.” 

It was meant to comfort them, but in saying it out loud, it made perfect sense. Earlier I had joked that my favorite topic was myself — which might sound self-centered, but really, it’s just the truth: I know everything there is to know about that topic, because I am me. So when I listened to my half-serious comfort remarks, I found the truth in them. 

When I had my interview that next morning, I reminded myself of my own words: “You know yourself better than anyone else here.” Even though I was surrounded by incredible women with years of experience, I decided to focus on what made me, uniquely me. 

I didn’t walk away with the title of Miss Wisconsin — but I did walk away with the Non-finalist Interview Award, tied for the Overall Interview Award with the new Miss Wisconsin herself, and was voted Heart of Miss Wisconsin by my fellow titleholders. That last one meant the world to me — because while the judges saw my voice and authenticity, the inspiring women beside me saw my heart. I had fulfilled my goals I had set for myself and even more. 

What I’ve learned is this: the interview isn’t about being the smartest person in the room or having a perfect answer to every question. It’s about owning who you are and what you know. When you lead with confidence and speak your truth, you leave an impact — crown or not.

A few interview reminders I live by: 

● You are the only person who knows everything about you. 
● It's okay to take a breath. A pause shows confidence — better than filling space with “um” or rambling just to avoid silence. 
● Judges don’t want a rehearsed version of you; they want the authentic you. 

● Be kind to yourself. Self doubt is human, but it doesn’t wear the crown. 

So if you’re reading this in preparation for your first interview — or fifth — just remember: you don’t need to be anyone else beside yourself to impress the judges. Your voice, your story, your truth are enough. You have got this. 

I hope you didn't expect anything but cheesy advice from a local Wisconsin title holder.

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Avery Manthe is the current Miss Wausau Area (WI). You can follow her on her Instagram. 

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.

Title: The Art of Perspective

By Thea Tanton

Perspective—it can shift in an instant.

Speed painting is a fascinating art form. Whoever first imagined it must have had a brain worth studying. Seriously—who looks at a blank canvas and thinks, “I’m going to create something meaningful in under 90 seconds, upside down, and in front of an audience”? And yet… here I am, the person who attempts exactly that at every pageant I compete in.

As wild as it sounds, speed painting is more than just a test of skill—it's a demonstration of trust in the process. You’re racing the clock, unsure if the chaotic smears of paint will ever come together. And then, in one dramatic moment, you flip the canvas—and everything falls into place. What looked like a mess suddenly reveals a masterpiece. The collective gasp from the audience always tells me the same thing: the shift in perspective changes everything.

Art has a funny way of mirroring life. Just like a speed painting, life often feels confusing, unformed—like we’re trying to make sense of a chaotic mess with no clear image in sight. We search for clarity, desperate to connect the dots, and feel alone when we can't.

When I was 18, I worked as a lifeguard at a waterpark. On June 25, 2023, I performed CPR on a six-year-old boy who, despite every effort, tragically passed away. The days and nights that followed were heavy with grief and guilt. I kept searching for answers, for a reason, for some kind of picture that could explain the pain. People told me, “Everything happens for a reason.” But that phrase rang hollow. What reason could there be for tragic loss? How could anything good come from something so heartbreaking?

That experience taught me that grief is not something you overcome—it’s something you carry. And without a shift in perspective, it can weigh you down entirely. I couldn’t change the past. I couldn’t undo what happened. But I could flip the canvas.

So I did.

I began visiting classrooms, teaching children about water safety. I partnered with organizations and schools to educate communities. I used social media to amplify the message. I stopped seeing myself as a failure in that moment, and started seeing myself as someone with a purpose—someone who could help prevent another tragedy. I chose to honor that little boy’s memory by ensuring his story could save others. Slowly, the picture started to come together. What once looked like a series of disconnected brushstrokes began to form something bigger. Something meaningful.

Perspective matters. It’s not about erasing the past—like paint on a canvas, some marks are permanent. But it’s about choosing how you see it, and what you do with it. When life feels like an abstract mess of pain and confusion, maybe it’s not that the picture is broken—maybe you just haven’t turned the canvas around yet.

So the next time you're faced with something that seems senseless or impossible, consider this: all hope is not lost. Sometimes, all you need is a shift in perspective.

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Thea Tanton is the current Miss Missouri River (SD). You can follow her on her Instagram. You can see her speed painting talent on the Miss SD stage here. 

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.

The Stage Where I Couldn’t Breathe

By Caitlyn McTier

“Congratulations to our preliminary winners! We can’t wait to see everyone back here tomorrow when we crown Miss New York 2025.” That was the last phrase I remember before everything went black–or blurry–or honestly, I’m not even sure what. All I know is that my heart was beating out of my chest, and something wasn’t right.

Time started melting together. The next thing I remember, I was collapsing into my mother’s arms during visitation after the final night of preliminary competition. Within minutes, I was ushered to a back room where a kind hostess brought me a hot tea, a cookie, and a comforting hug.

“Oh honey,” she said. “These are all the things I like when I have a panic attack.”

A panic attack.

A panic attack?

Was that what was happening? I had never felt anything like it before.

About 30 minutes passed with just my mom–who I might’ve given her own panic attack just from how emotional I was–until I eventually rejoined the group. I took photos, spoke to little girls, smiled for the cameras. Then somehow, I woke up the next morning and competed in the finals for Miss New York. And big surprise…I lost. But my best friend won. And in that moment, I felt overwhelming joy for her. I also felt the most physically depleted I’d ever been, after a long week battling not just the mental but also a sinus infection.

One of the hardest parts of pageantry is the unspoken expectation to always be “on.” The judges don’t know what’s going on behind the scenes. They’re judging what they see in 90 seconds of talent or a 10-minute interview. And that’s their job. But sometimes, no matter how much you prepare, life happens. And I believe in divine timing–sometimes the door doesn’t open because it’s not meant for you.

After Miss New York week, I made appointments with both my physician and my therapist, trying to make sense of what had happened. Turns out, a big contributor was that I had recently gone off a medication that negatively affected my health. On top of that, I was dealing with personal challenges I’d been pushing off with a “deal with it after Miss New York” mindset. I hadn’t listened to my body in the weeks leading up to competition. I was so focused on the goal that I completely neglected my health. That moment made me question if I even wanted to return to pageants at all.

I’m what some might call a Miss America enthusiast. I’ve competed since I was 13 in the teen program, and let’s just say I’m now 26. I’ve never missed watching a Miss America pageant. My mom was a dressing room mom for Miss Alabama throughout my childhood, and I grew up wanting to be just like the pretty girls on stage. I’ve even been around long enough to have competed during the swimsuit era.

So it was hard–really hard–to imagine my pageant journey ending on such a negative note, with no closure. I knew I wanted to come back, but I had to get over my fear of stepping back on the stage where I last couldn’t breathe.

I waited. And waited. Until the very last day to apply for my local title: Miss Manhattan.

But I did it. I applied. And yes, I was still scared.

Spoiler alert: I won the pageant.

To some, it may have looked like just another crown.

To me, it was proof that I had faced a fear head-on–publicly–and refused to let it win.

It’s been almost a year since my first major panic attack. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that mental health doesn’t get fixed overnight.

In the first seven months that followed, I had more minor episodes. Some days, getting out of bed felt impossible. Being the “girl boss” everyone expects me to be? Even harder. I lost friendships–people who didn’t understand what high-functioning anxiety or depression looks like, or who didn’t know how to support someone who isn’t always smiling. That was hard to accept. But I’m also grateful for the people who stayed–my family, my friends–who lifted me up when I was literally on the ground. Who helped me laugh on the days I felt too sad to speak.

I often think about Cheslie Kryst and the pain she must have felt leading up to her death in 2022. Pageants can make us feel like we’re being authentic—but the truth is, many of us are hiding a lot.

I’m writing this because whether I win Miss New York or not, I want to show up authentically. Even though a part of me is scared–scared that a judge might read this and decide I’m unfit for the job–I’m telling my story anyway. Because being a titleholder isn’t just about the next crown. It’s about using your platform to help even one person feel less alone.

“Far too many of us allow ourselves to be measured by a standard that some sternly refuse to challenge and others simply acquiesce to because fitting in and going with the flow is easier than rowing against the current.” – Cheslie Kryst

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Caitlyn McTier is the current Miss Manhattan (NY). You can follow her on her Instagram.

This is her first guest blog for Section 36 Forevers.